


Stranger Creatures

by Owlsofthenight



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Abduction, Alexithymia, Alternate Universe, Angst, Asexual Character, Blurryface is the dark passenger, Dark Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Killing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Psychopath, Serial Killers, Stockholm Syndrome, Strong Language, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2018-12-15 18:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11811642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owlsofthenight/pseuds/Owlsofthenight
Summary: Those who murder others are psychotic, unpredictable, unstable human beings who deserve to suffer for what they have done.But not Tyler, because he has morals. He uses strategy. He only kills the guilty.That makes it justified, right?Essentially= Twenty One Pilots meets Dexter.





	1. Chapter 1

Things didn't go as planned.

The unconscious body that currently resided in his backseat was evidence of that.

So stupid, stupid, stupid.

It was a careless mistake- one that only an inexperienced killer should have made. Any other night, this wouldn't have happened. He was always so careful. So precise. So prepared for anything to happen.

He had back up plans. He had back up plans for those back up plans.

So how on Earth did this happen?

"Dammit!" Tyler struck the steering wheel.

A momentary loss of control, but he regained his composure and started the car. He needed to stay calm. He needed to figure out what to do.

He started to drive, nervous and on edge for the scene he was leaving behind. He hoped he was thorough enough and hadn't left any presents for the investigators.

Well, besides the body.

The broken furniture and the bloody mess on his clothes? A result of a struggle. Not his norm.

Which brings us back to the fact that things didn't go as planned.

The smell of bleach was still burned inside his nose. He was going to have to cleanse the steering wheel too- he hadn't taken off his medical gloves yet, and they were smeared with a shade of maroon he knew all to well.

He was going to have to burn his clothes. He was going to have to explain this to Mark. He was going to have to...

What the hell was he going to do with this guy in his backseat?!

Any one else would have probably finished him off without a second thought, but Tyler had hesitated. He hesitated and couldn't do it. In retrospect, maybe he should have. It would have saved him a lot of hassle, but he would have paid for it dearly. He would have felt guilty for killing the innocent bystander of his sloppy crime. It wasn't his fault for any of this, why should he have to die? 

Ending a life like that would have made Tyler no better than the rest.

His night had started out like any other; skeleton hoodie zipped up to cover his identity, a knife in his hand, another in his pocket, a pistol tucked into the back of his jeans incase of emergency, and a backpack complete with duct tape, bleach, a flashlight, miscellaneous tools that could double as weapons, a small camcorder to tape the confession, and syringes filled with sedative.

He had kept an eye through the windows on his target, monitoring him and trying to judge the best time to enter and make his move. He scoped out a way to get in, but all the windows and doors were locked. He was crouched down on the back steps when he eyed the welcome mat beneath his feet. 

He lifted one of the edges just for the heck of it, and fought hard not to laugh. So typical that there was a spare key.

He unlocked the door and quietly snuck inside. He stood with his back to the wall, peaking around the doorway and into the living room at the unsuspecting man in the recliner who faced away from him. He didn't have to try hard to remain undetected with how loud the television was, but he watched the back of the man's head keenly as he made his way over.   

That was when things went wrong.

Someone knocked on the door. 

There wasn't enough time to duck out of the room, and no where to hide as the man stood up and turned, so Tyler did the only thing he could do. He attacked.

He wrapped his arm around the man's throat and stabbed the knife into his side, prompting him to scream in agony. Tyler covered his mouth, cutting off the cries for help, but it was too late. The other person was already breaking down the front door.

Tyler withdrew the blade, but the man caught him off guard and began to fight back.

The guy swung an elbow into the side of his head, causing him to falter just long enough for the knife to get smacked out of his hand. It slid across the hardwood, out of reach as they wrestled to the ground, but Tyler knew his strength wouldn't keep up. He was running off of pure adrenalin from his injury.

It was too difficult to see what he was doing with the hood obscuring his view, so when Tyler had the chance- he unzipped it.

The fabric fell from his head as he pulled the switchblade from his pocket, swinging it open and piercing it into the man's chest before he could get up.

And a second time.

And a third time, just to make sure.

All movement stopped, his expression lifeless.

Blood was splattered everywhere, and usually Tyler would have found beauty in something like that, but not today.

There was a loud bang as the door hit the wall.

"Patrick?!" A worried voice called out.

Two wide, horrified eyes entered the room and began to take in the sight.

There was a moment in which their gazes connected, a healthy helping of shock from both ends.

Tyler's hand twitched as he debated on reaching for his gun, but he didn't. 

And so, the man came barreling at him.

Tyler abandoned the knife and reached for the side pocket of his backpack, but he couldn't retrieve its contents in time. The syringes flew out as he was slammed to the ground.

He could have shot him. He _should_ have shot him.     

Instead, he was fighting for his life against someone who shouldn't be there.

He was stretching for one of the knives that rested a few feet away while fending off punches. He was able to cease the onslaught with a well placed blow and scrambled for the syringes. He grabbed one, pulled the protective cover off the needle, and dodged the lamp the man chucked at him.

They froze in a stand off as Tyler held the syringe up in a stabbing position. Waiting.

He suddenly bolted forward, but a hand wrapped around his wrist. As he strained to bring the needle down, they got tripped up and collapsed onto a glass coffee table- shattering it. The instant the needle penetrated skin, Tyler compressed the plunger. 

The man gradually weakened, and although he tried to stand, he stammered backwards and fell. 

Tyler checked himself over for any lacerations, afraid he might have been leaking his DNA all over the place. He did the same for the other guy, rolling his drugged up body side to side. Nothing.

Tyler was relieved for maybe a fraction of a nanosecond before panic set in full swing.

And that was how he ended up at home with a stranger bound to a chair with duct tape over his mouth.

Fun times. 


	2. Chapter 2

With the man still unconscious in the chair, his head hung to the side, Tyler thought this would be a good time to get cleaned up. There was nothing he could do for right now, so might as well continue on with his normal routine.

He put his bloodied clothes into a garbage bag before getting into the shower. His skin reddened from the hot water as he scrubbed his body with soap. He focused on his face- where he felt dried and crusted spots. He hoped none of it had gotten into his eyes. He usually wore eye protection if he wanted to have more fun than usual, but that was just one more thing he hadn't prepared for.    

He leaned forward, letting the stream beat down over his head as he reviewed his options.

Option one was to hold this guy captive here forever, and somehow, that would work out and nothing bad would happen. There would be a fairytale ending and everything.

Option two was to let him go. Maybe he'd just forget this whole ordeal even happened after a little nap.

Option three was to kill him... and then lose the last bit of humanity in his dark soul. It was a last resort, and his least favorite of them all.

Then there was option four; postpone all thoughts on the matter until tomorrow. When his rationale would have returned to a some-what normal state.

The latter would have to do.

Tyler dried off and wrapped a towel around his waist. He wasn't surprised to exit the bathroom and see the man struggling to escape.

He wasn't worried, though. It was a primitive, natural human instinct when one finds themselves in a situation like this. His captee would soon realize his efforts were futile, and until then, Tyler had free entertainment.

He watched as his eyes turned to fear, the tape being sucked in with his every strained breath. It wasn't like this was Tyler's most intimidating appearance, but that didn't seem to matter much.

And now that all hell wasn't breaking loose, Tyler could properly observe his features. He was disappointed in how much he found him attractive. He was also disappointed that he almost got his ass kicked by a guy with pink hair.

But it suited him. It looked good against his complexion and the rest of his naturally dark hair.

And why Tyler was making all of these observations, he really wasn't sure. He shouldn't have cared.

In all of his twenty eight years of existence, he had never felt like this before. Sure, he had faked his way through plenty of relationships in the past just to fit in, but to find someone actually attractive? That was new.

He shook it off, returning to his preferred numbness, and continued through to his bedroom and changed into a plain grey tshirt and skinny jeans. He picked up the gun off his bed and tucked it into his pants before heading to the kitchen.

"I'm starving." He said to himself.

He could feel a set of eyes on his back as he opened the fridge. He could feel them as he moved to a cabinet and pulled out a box of cereal.

He glanced over his shoulder.

Yup, they were there.

"It sucks you showed up when you did... kind of screwed up my plans." Tyler spoke as if he were having a casual conversation. He carried his bowl into the living room and took a seat, "Guess you picked the wrong time to drop by... What was he? Your friend? A relative? ... A lover?"

The man's stare grew meaner.

Tyler sighed, "Doesn't matter anyways. Guy was a dick." He raised the spoon to his mouth, but looked back over at him, "Oh geez, I forgot to ask. Do you want some? I know it's not exactly a dinner food... but I'm too tired to cook."

Still that same, intense stare.

"Okay. I know you can't talk, but I'm sure you know some basic, nonverbal gestures. Do you want to eat?"

The man hesitantly nodded his head.

Tyler went back to the kitchen and prepared a second one, setting it on the table and pulling up a chair to sit in front of the man.

He pulled his pistol out and rested it on his lap, "I'm gonna take the tape off your mouth. If you scream or even mildly irritate me, you're gonna be catching a bullet with your skull. Got it?"

The man quickly nodded, not reading through Tyler's bluff.

Guns were loud, messy, and had the possibility to malfunction.

He preferred to work with a knife any day of the week. He loved having the ability to carve intricate designs into flesh, turning them into works of art. To have the feeling of resistance within his grasp. He felt more in control- more up close and personal to his work, but this was all about keeping up an image.

The truth was- people feared guns more than knives.

He reached up, and in one swift motion, ripped off the tape.

The man winced, "Ow."

"So what's your real name? 'Cause I keep calling you 'flamingo boy' in my head."

It took him a moment, but he decided it would be best to answer, "It's Josh."

"Josh... yea, I like that name more."

"Neighbor."

Tyler squinted, confused, "Huh?"

"He was my neighbor... you killed my neighbor."

"Oh. Got ya... I'm glad he wasn't your lover, 'cause this would've been awkward." He laughed.

"You're fucking psychotic." Josh spat.

The gun was pressed against his head in an instant.

"Remember what I said about irritating me?!"

"Okay, okay, okay! Sorry!"

Tyler sighed, a smile tugging at his lips, "There's no need to tell me what I already know, Joshie." He patted the side of his face, causing him to flinch away, "Don't make this any harder than it has to be." 

Josh squeezed his eyes shut with relief as the cold barrel lifted away from his temple, but his heart rate spiked back up when he saw Tyler return to the room with a knife.

He squirmed in his seat as he approached, "Woah, what are you doing?"

"Relax." Tyler cut the duct tape and unraveled it from Josh's torso and chair, moving on to free his hands, "I'm not spoon feeding you."

He rubbed his wrists as Tyler sat at the table, gun next to his bowl, and began to eat.

He slowly slid up the chair, "Uh... thanks."

They ate their soggy cereal in silence, trading glances every once in a while. When they were finished, Tyler put the knife in his pocket, the gun in his pants, and took the dishes to the sink.

He returned with a roll of duct tape and sat it on the table, "You have an hour. Use the bathroom, stretch out, whatever you have to-"

"Wait, you're strapping me back to this chair?"

"Well, duh. What do you think? I'm not gonna trust you to just _hang out_."

"How am I supposed to sleep?"

He shrugged, "That's not really my problem. You'll sleep when you're tired enough."

Josh glared at him as he walked away, "Why didn't you kill me?"

Tyler stopped in his tracks.

"I saw you standing over his body. I saw your face. I get it. You could have killed me, but you didn't. Why?"

"Maybe I didn't feel like murdering two people in one night. Tomorrow's a new day."

Josh swallowed, but didn't fully believe him.

Things didn't add up.

If there was a motive to kill someone, having to dispose of a witness was a pretty good one. When that needle had gone into his shoulder, he knew he was a goner.

So why did he wake up in the killer's home, unharmed?

He wasn't sure whether to be calm or terrified. He had no idea what this man's intentions were. One minute he was being offered food, and the next- he was a trigger pull away from finding out if Heaven really existed.

But Josh obeyed his captor's orders. He relieved himself, and as he washed his hands, eyed the razor next to the sink. He talked himself down from what his survival instincts were screaming for him to do. He had lived this long, and with his basic needs being met, why push his luck? He had to figure out what was keeping him here- to calculate his chances of survival before resorting to means like that.

He nonchalantly scoped out possible escape routes on the walk back, as well as things he could use as weapons if shit were to hit the fan. Tyler was on the couch as he passed by, skimming through a manila folder without even looking up.  

"You know you can sit over here, right?"

Josh took a seat at the table, unsure of how to say 'No, I'd really rather avoid you like the plague' without offending him. Without giving him a reason to paint the wall behind his head red.  

Tyler glanced at his uneasy stare, "Geez, was just an offer. Figured your ass could use a break, those chairs suck to sit in."

There was a knock at the door, surprising both of them.

Tyler's eyes went wide as he leapt up and whipped out his gun, taking aim at Josh, "Don't say a fucking word, just get over here!" He aggressively whispered.

Josh was quick to listen.

More knocking.

"Hang on a minute!" Tyler shouted before pointing to the bedroom, "Go! Get in there, and hide. Try anything, and I'll kill you."

With Josh hidden, he tucked the pistol away and answered the door.

Mark barged inside, an identical manila folder in hand, "What the hell happened, man?"

Tyler subconsciously glanced at the bedroom, "Uh..."

At first, Josh was excited to see the windows next to the bed. It would be all too easy to slip out right now, while this guy was occupied and not paying attention. He grinned, rushing over to the closest one and unlocking it- but stopped.   

"What do you mean things went South?" He heard the other man ask.

Josh's curiosity got the best of him. He cursed himself as he backed away from the window and crept over to the door, peering through the crack.

"Did you kill him?"

"Yea, I killed him." Tyler rubbed his neck, "I just didn't get the confession statement."

"God damnit. What happened?"

Another glance towards the room.

He met Josh's eyes, "I don't know... he put up a good fight. Things got out of hand."

"Out of hand?! Tyler, I'm putting my neck out for you to do this. We're both so fucked if we get caught! Did you leave behind any evidence?"

Tyler was still grimacing from his name leak, "No! It was as clean as it could be."

Mark slumped down onto the couch, "Good, because I got another one for ya."

Tyler held out a hand, "Here, I'll just take a look at-"

Mark ignored him, "Brendon Urie, 30, white male, brown hair. He's the son of a bitch who's been killing those women in Newark. That blood sample my team collected the other day came back as a match. He has all tons of shit on his record, too... aggravated assault, possession of drugs, intent to sell... You need to watch out with this one."

Tyler took the file from him, "I'll be fine."

Mark stood up and shoved his hands into his pockets, "Maybe we should take a break after this one."

"What? You mean..."

"It's just a suggestion. I know you don't want to... I just don't want you getting hurt or losing yourself in this."

"I'm fine, I promise."

Mark nodded, "We'll talk more tomorrow. Hit me up when you head out."

"Okay, I will."

And with that, Mark left.

Tyler dropped the file onto the couch and sighed, "You can come out now."

Josh opened the door, looking everywhere except at the man he now knew as 'Tyler'.

"So, how much of that did you hear?"

"I..." His mouth hung open, fearful of the repercussions to come if he spoke the truth. 

And oh God, he knew his name now. He knew his _fucking_ _name_. He wasn't going to get out of here alive.

Tyler chuckled, "You heard it all, huh? That's alright. We'll figure it out, Joshie."

God dammit.

Maybe he should get that razor from the bathroom now.

"Stop." Tyler demanded, causing Josh to look up at him, "I can read you, and I know what you're thinking. I'm not going to hurt you unless you give me a reason to, and please- for your sake and the sake of my clean floors, don't give me a reason."

His face went cold. Just when he thought things couldn't get worse, this guy became a mind reader.

"You got twenty minutes." Tyler sat back down on the couch, opening the file and flipping through the papers.

Josh was almost too afraid to move, but there were so many things he wanted to ask.

Tyler's victims weren't random. That file he was looking at was of another killer. That other guy was a forensics specialist. He _works_ with the police, but whether or not it was one big conspiracy- he didn't know.

He didn't know what to do.

Josh sat down on the couch, earning a quick glance from Tyler- who didn't seem bothered by the company.

He decided to just keep quiet. He decided not to go for the razor in the bathroom. He didn't put up a fight when it was time to get restrained back to the chair.

"Night, night Josh." Tyler said before heading to his bedroom.

He shut the door and pulled off his clothes. He set the gun and knife down on the end table, but on his way over to shut off the lights, he noticed something.

The latch on one of the windows was unlocked. He stared at it, knowing very well that he hadn't left it like that. His mild obsessive compulsive disorder wouldn't allow it.

He locked it, smiling as he laid down in bed.

Tomorrow was going to be a good day. 


	3. Chapter 3

Josh woke up with a sore back, pins and needles in his legs, and a crick in his neck from what was easily the worst sleeping position he had ever experienced. He was wrong to think that Tyler didn't want to hurt him because this chair was a freaking torture device.

His tired eyes adjusted to see the shirtless man, back turned with the butt of his gun protruding from his jeans as he stood at the stove. In any other circumstance, Josh probably would have found this view kind of sexy, but he couldn't think like that right now. The man behind that face was a nightmare. He was everything _but_ sexy.

Or at least that's what Josh kept telling himself.

Maybe he was more fucked up than he originally thought.

"Morning sunshine! Want some breakfast?" Tyler asked as he slid eggs off of a frying pan and onto plates.

Despite the kind gesture and his friendly demeanor, Josh stayed vigilant and uneasy.

Like a repeat of last night, Tyler set the plates down and cut him free. He began to eat, but Josh only watched and pushed his food around with his fork.

"What? Not hungry or something?" 

"What are you gonna do with me?" Josh answered the question with one of his own.

Tyler seemed to ponder as he chewed, "I think that's really going to be up to you, my friend."

"If you don't want to kill me, then what's the point in keeping me here?"

He leaned back in his seat, "I'm still trying to figure that out myself."

"Well, then you should just kill me. I'm not gonna play this fucking game with you."

"Aw, but come on, we could have so much fun together. I like having someone else around. Gets lonely being by myself all the time." 

"Maybe you should just get out more."

"Oh, I get out plenty."

Josh scoffed, "Yea, to kill innocent people."

Tyler slammed the side of his fist down onto the table, "They are _not_ fucking innocent!" The anger subsided, realizing he said too much. He got up with his plate, "So are you gonna eat, or no?"

Josh nodded, thinking it would be best to just shut the hell up and take what food was offered to him. His next meal wasn't guaranteed. 

Surviving was also not guaranteed, and maybe he didn't want to die yet. Maybe he wanted to stick around a bit longer and find out more about this deranged man. To see what daily life was like for a serial killer, which very few could say they have done.

And apparently, a day in the life of a serial killer wasn't necessarily just blood and gore.

The rest of their morning consisted of hanging out and watching television.

It sounds just as strange as it was.

Literally just the two of them, on the couch, ID channel on (of course), and Tyler adding commentary when needed. He pointed out every mistake that was made by the suspects, and scrutinized their mediocre methods. 

Josh only listened- not really having much knowledge on the subject to add his own input, but he was intrigued. He was more fascinated than revolted by it all. He was getting a glimpse into Tyler's mind, and there was more science involved than he ever could have imagined. 

It also made Josh realize just how screwed he was if Tyler decided to stop being nice. His body would never be recovered. His family would never know what happened to him. Tyler would get away with it, and the world would continue spinning as if nothing happened.

It was an unsettling feeling.

He dared himself to speak, "So how long have you, uh... been doing what you do?"

"Long enough."

He should have expected that vague response, "You only go after certain people, don't you?"

Josh's brain to mouth filter was apparently broken, but Tyler wasn't fazed by it, "Yea, I do."

"The guy you have to kill today... he's bad, but he's a serial killer- just like you."

"No." Tyler was suddenly aggravated again, " _Not_ like me. I don't run around slitting the throats of twenty six women for shits and giggles. He's a monster. He needs to be put down."

To Josh, no murder was better than another. They were all horrible, but if someone deserved to die, it would be a killer. 

Was he really sympathizing with this guy right now?

Josh looked down at the ground, "Did Patrick do something bad?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

Josh took a breath, "Yes. Yes, I do."

Tyler muted the volume, "Alright... he worked in child trafficking. He raped and killed a sixteen year old girl, but evidence got destroyed and he was let go. The justice system fucks up like that sometimes."

"Wait, how could... but... he was my neighbor. How the hell could he be involved in something like that? He always seemed so..."

"Nice? Scary, huh? That's how it always goes. It's the normal ones you have to watch out for. The ones who have the perfect lives."

He was right. It was scary.

If he had passed Tyler out on the streets, he wouldn't have batted an eye. There was nothing visibly off about him- nothing that would set him apart from a crowd. Josh wouldn't have known he had just brushed shoulders with a murderer. 

How many people like that did he see everyday? Was Tyler the only murderer he knew, or were there more? Half of him wanted to know, the other half wanted to live in denial.

As the day went on, Josh found that his nerves had settled a bit. Tyler wasn't so menacing about everything he said and did, which probably played a part in that.

Josh spectated as he cleaned his knives, and even joined him outside- watching as he dumped gasoline over a bag of clothes in a steel drum and tossed in a match. Surrounded by woods with no neighboring houses to be seen, they silently stood around the fire and watched the smoke rise up into the air. 

Later, when Tyler ran out to pick up food for dinner, he didn't tape Josh as tight as before. It was still secure, but didn't cut off his blood flow- almost as if Tyler cared about his comfort level now.

They ate Chinese food while watching a sitcom, but Josh began to think it was just meant for him. He laughed at some of the jokes, but would grow self-conscious and stop after looking at an expressionless Tyler.

It was awkward, but a nice change from the other channel.  

Tyler finished eating and threw his garbage away, "Guess I should start getting ready."

Josh suddenly lost his appetite, "For the..."

"Yup." He said as he disappeared into his bedroom for a few minutes, returning in a black sweatshirt with a balaclava in his hand.

He dropped a backpack onto the coffee table, unzipping a pocket to put in a pair of safety glasses.

Josh really didn't want to know what they were for.

Tyler inspected his gun, ejecting the magazine to check his ammo before putting it back together and tucking it away. He responded to a message on his phone before heading into the kitchen- and Josh knew what that meant.

He got up with the rest of his food, covering it and handing it to Tyler to put in the fridge. He sat in the chair, the infamous chair, and held out his hands to get duct taped.

Confident that Josh was secure enough, Tyler threw the backpack over his shoulder and pulled on his gloves, "See ya in a few hours."

"Wait-"

Tyler's hand froze on the doorknob, "What?"

"What happens if... you don't come back?"

"Why wouldn't I come back?"

"I don't know, but just say you couldn't... How do I get out of this?"

Tyler smirked, "You don't."


	4. Chapter 4

Murderers, including Tyler, deserved to die. He knew that.

But tonight- another killer deserved it worse than him.

He reflected on that as he reevaluated the items in his backpack. He ditched some of the tools and bleach to make room for more duct tape and packages of plastic sheets- the essentials to create a kill room.

He closed the garage, got into his car, and began his drive into town. With all the frustrations that came with a botched kill and a new roommate, he needed this more than anything. He needed to feel in control again.  

He had been the benevolent sociopath he was today for as long as he could remember- fooling the elderly into thinking he was a pleasant young man with his fake smile, sharing small talk with others out in public (even though he'd rather stab himself in the eye with a hot soldering iron), and acting like a stable individual to pass all of society's unreasonable standards... just to cover up his big, dark secret. A secret that, until yesterday, only one other person had known about.

Until that pink-haired, wannabe hero came crashing into the picture and threw everything off.

And Tyler  _hated_ chaos.

All of his murders had gone unsolved, or at least the ones he had left for the authorities to find. The police were stumped and left without clues, witnesses, or motives. As far as they knew it, they had just been senseless killings- unconnected random acts of violence committed by multiple different people.

Some didn't even appear as murders at all. Tyler's personal favorite being the one that took place after-hours at a construction site. The body was found mangled up in a piece of heavy machinery. Investigators had ruled it as an accident- maybe just some drunk college students messing around to get a thrill, but that couldn't have been farther from the truth.

Well, except for the drunk part. Tyler had followed the guy from a bar before leading him to his ghastly death.

He hated killing people who were under the influence. He couldn't put a finger on it, but there was something not as pure about their reaction in their final moments. Something was missing, and it left him unsatisfied. 

But it was nothing a little sleep and a new target from Mark couldn't fix.

Eat, kill, sleep, repeat. It was a lifestyle.

A lifestyle that was shaped and molded just for him, manifesting as he got older, and growing stronger until it completely overthrew him.

And now he needed to feed the monster inside, but no matter the size of the meal, it was never enough. It was even harder since the monster was on a diet and calorie restriction; unable to just go rogue and kill everyone and anyone he wanted to. There were codes in place that he had to follow if he didn't want to get caught, and he treated them like a religion.

Never get caught and never kill an innocent- unless the last compromises the first.  

After a forty minute drive, with nothing but a staticky radio station being drowned out by his deep thoughts, Tyler ended up a few houses away from his destination.

Not Brendon- but someone who was going to help uncover his location. Someone who deserved a similar fate for acting as an accessory to his terrible crimes.

His right hand man.

Tyler sat in his parked car, lights off, observing for what seemed like another forty minutes. He took note of his surroundings and waited until he was more than certain he could pass, unseen, to his target’s house. 

He tugged on the mask and grabbed his backpack, throwing it on as he quietly closed the car door and rushed across the pavement.

As he reached the driveway, lined with bushes and a black gate, he could see a light emanating from the garage; a man sat on the ground with his back turned, working on his motorcycle- completely absorbed in what he was doing as he tightened a bolt.

Completely unaware of the threat that had closed in behind him with a heavy dose of M99.

The man’s body tensed up at the sudden realization of danger, but it was too late- the sedative kicked in and sent him falling limp to the side.

And so another waiting game began for Tyler, and he spent a good fraction of that time transforming this place into his new work shop.

He picked up the scattered tools and engine parts, moved the bike out back, closed the garage door, and lined the entire interior with strips of polyethylene until there wasn’t an inch left uncovered.

Tyler’s soon-to-be-victim remained unconscious, naked on a similarly protected work bench that had been placed in the center of the room. He was secured by duct tape and plastic- wrapped up just like an early Christmas Present.

Except... well, the obvious.

Tyler didn’t have great experiences with Holidays growing up.

The man’s eyes finally rolled back and forth beneath his eyelids, and he squeezed them shut even tighter before finally opening them.

And open them he did.

His wide, confused, panic-filled eyes darted all around as muffled shouts fought against the tape over his mouth.

“Hello, Pete Wentz.” Tyler spoke in a way that was only reserved for those unfortunate enough to wake up on his table, “Where’s your friend?”

And with a flick of his wrist, he ripped off the tape- releasing a desperate, angry yelp from the helpless man.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about! Who the fuck are you?!”

Tyler smirked as he watched him fight against the material which held him down, “I’m someone you _really_ don’t want to piss off right now... so, where’s Brendon?”

“Who?”

Just as the word finished leaving his lips, Tyler had a blade- a rather _large_ one at that- pressed up against his throat, causing him to inhale sharply, “I think you know who. Now tell me where I can find him, or I’m gonna-” 

“Okay! Okay! He’s at a fucking rental place in Hebron! The fucking address is on a card in my wallet!”

Well, that was easy.

After a moment, Tyler removed the knife- heading for the pile of clothes at the far end of the room. He retrieved a wallet out of the man’s jeans and, just like he had said, a small card with an address written in pen from inside it.

“What’s he doing there?” Tyler asked, surprised to hear Pete chuckle.

“The fuck do you think?”

He gazed up at the man with an impassive stare, “When?”

“I don’t know... soon. He’s at a nightclub right now.”

“Huh.” Tyler looked back down at the card as he strode back over, “Guess I better get going then.”

“S-s-so that’s it?”

“Yup. That’s it.”

But before the man could speak again, blood bubbled up out of his mouth.

A knife buried to the hilt in his chest.

Tyler removed one of his gloves to pull out his phone, one last gurgle from Pete as he waited for Mark to answer, “It’s done and I got an address. He’s out now, I’m gonna try to beat him there.”

And after recieving a simple ‘okay’, he hung up and glanced at the now lifeless corpse on the work bench.

Clean up was going to have to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me forever to post this chapter. Sorry not much happened, but I’ll be posting the next one as soon as I can!


	5. Chapter 5

His wrists stung. His fingers ached. He was sure he was about to crack a tooth from how hard he was clenching his jaw shut as he twisted and yanked his hands back and forth.

If he wanted to escape, now would be the time- but with what seemed like half of a roll of duct tape wrapped around him and the chair, it was proving to be too much. He couldn’t get enough wiggle room to slip out, and despite being fairly strong, he couldn’t break free.

Josh threw his head back, squeezing his eyes shut as he took a deep breath in frustration. He was tired, angry, and as much as he tried to contain it- scared.

Since his captor had left, he had been doing one of the only things he could do; thinking. 

And the traumatic flashbacks which now filled his head in the silence of the killer’s house had sent him sobbing.

Had sent him raging.

Yelling.

Screaming. 

Had made him realize that he needed to _get the_ _hell_ _out of here_ , whatever the cost. Even if he had to kill Tyler himself.

Without any weapons or sedative, Josh could most likely take him out- but that was the trick; to catch him empty-handed. He had to hope Tyler would let his guard down, even just for a second. One catastrophic slip up was all it would take- but the pretty-eyed killer didn’t seem the type to make drastic mistakes very often. 

The house had no phones, it was in the middle of no where, and with the way even his legs were bound- tipping the chair over to try and find something to cut with was impossible. It all seemed meticulously planned, or coincidentally optimal for a perfect abduction at least. 

But that was all besides the point. 

Even if a miracle were to happen, he couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t be able to bring himself to kill Tyler, and he knew it.

And it pissed him off.

Why? What made him feel this way? He saw what that man was capable of. He had done it many times before, and would most likely continue after all of this was said and done- unless he was stopped. 

Maybe it was his choice of victims, making him seem like a well-meaning villian. Maybe Josh just didn’t have a mean enough bone in his body. 

Maybe he just didn’t want to kill Tyler.

Maybe if he escaped, he wouldn’t tell a soul about any of this.

Josh shook his head with a sigh as he dropped his gaze down to the floorboards, “What the hell is wrong with me?” 

Further up in Ohio, Tyler had arrived outside Brendon Urie’s latest murder pad. 

He looked the house over as he slowly drove past- pleased to see no cameras, dogs, or any buddies of his on the look out. From what he had read in the file Mark had given him, Brendon liked to seduce his victims at a club, get them drunk, and escort them to a temporary place where he liked to have some fun before watching their blood pour out into a bath tub. 

Definitely not Tyler’s kink.

He was determined to prevent this guy from getting away with it a twenty seventh time, but he needed to get moving.

He went around back, per usual, and picked the lock. In the darkness, Tyler accidentally kicked something over on his way inside- sending it tinging across the floor as he froze in place with a grimace.

Luckily, and as he suspected, no one came to investigate.

Tyler pulled out his flashlight to see what the cause of the noise had been, and found an empty beer can. He looked around to see that he was inside of a kitchen- a trashed one at that; bottles of alcohol, cans, pizza boxes and pill bottles littered the counter tops. The living room and bedroom weren’t much better.

He stopped at the bathroom door, opening it and flipping the light on after seeing that the room didn’t have a window, and he was mildly impressed. It was Brendon’s own setup- a similar technique to what Tyler used. The room was completely void of all toiletry items, replaced by a black duffle bag next to the sink and tarps covering the floor to protect against accidental drips. 

Tyler’s curiosity got the best of him and he walked over to the bag, unzipping it to reveal an assortment of knives and equipment. Lost in his thoughts as he tried to break down Brendon’s process and body removal procedure, he had failed to hear a car pull in.

The sound of the front door being unlocked sent him frantically returning the room to its original state before scrambling for a place to hide.

He ended up in a closet in the master bedroom- crouched down with the doors shut as an out-of-it female voice was accompanied by a deeper, sinister one from down the hall.

“Yea, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” The male voice growled.

The pair entered into the room, a light suddenly coming on and shining through the wooden slits in the closet doors. Tyler knelt down and got close enough to peek through, seeing the man who matched the photo in the file.

It was Brendon Urie.

He watched as the dark haired man guided a disoriented girl to the bed. She sat down, eyes unfocused as he caressed her cheek.

“Where’s Jenna?” The female’s voice slurred.

“Don’t worry about her. It’s just you and me now.”

“No, you know, I should really c-call her-” The woman insisted as she tried to move his hand aside.

Brendon grabbed onto her wrist and held it tight, looking threateningly into her eyes as her face turned to surprise.

“You’re hurting me.”

“Forget about your friend, alright?” The question sounded more like a command. 

“Let me go!” 

As she pulled her arm out of his grasp, the back of his hand struck her face- whipping her head to the side as she let out a cry.

Tyler stared at the blonde-haired girl, her already short dress twisted up around the tops of her thighs as she curled up against the headrest, her mascara a blackened mess beneath her eyes.

She looked terrified, and Brendon looked like he was enjoying every second of it.

But what got Tyler, what was occupying most of his concentration at this moment, was a striking resemblance. 

Her eyes. Her hair. Her face... it was doing something to him that he couldn’t quite understand. Despite the woman’s pleas and Brendon pinning her down, he couldn’t move.

Because he had started to remember.

Flashbacks to him as a child in a playground, chasing a young blonde girl around- the image of her smile practically burned into his eyelids now.

Hugs. Laughter. Love.

Blood.

Him sitting in a puddle of it, the overwhelming smell of iron staining his nose. The viscous, warm liquid being all that he could see.

Brendon pulled off his shirt and approached the cowering, intoxicated girl with a wicked smile. Just as he grabbed her wrist, she smacked him- closed fist- across the side of the face.

His expression slowly turned from surprise to rage, “Fucking bitch!”

He slapped her, the motion so fast that it was just a blur as she whipped around and almost fell off the bed. 

And underneath a mess of tangled blonde strands, she slowly looked up at the closet. For a moment, Tyler could’ve sworn she was looking straight at him. That she knew he was in there. 

He was about to push open the door, but he stopped himself.

Not yet.

Brendon grabbed her by the hair, jerking her head back as her mouth fell agape, “Don’t make this any harder for yourself.”

“P-please... d-on’t...” She sobbed before he shoved her back down and got off the bed.

He paced around, ending up with his back facing the closet as his hands moved towards his belt.

But before he could get it undone, a needle entered his neck. His hand instantly flew up to grab at it, but Tyler was quicker. Brendon’s eyes rolled as his arms fell limp, and Tyler stepped aside to let him crumble to the ground.

He looked up from the unconscious body to see the girl staring at him with wide, distant eyes. 

Tyler slowly walked over to her, dropping the syringe to hold up his hands, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She didn’t seem to believe him, but she didn’t fight as he helped her stand.

And all that time, he couldn’t stop staring. He couldn’t stop studying her features and wondering.

“Maddie?” The name left his lips in a whisper, but it was loud enough for her to hear.

She shook her head, somehow managing to look even more confused than before.

Tyler closed his eyes and nodded. Good.

“Never mind, let’s go.”

He swung her arm across his shoulder to save time and began practically dragging her out the room. They made it half way down the hallway before they got caught up on each other and she fell- dragging him down with her.

Tyler lifted her back up onto her feet, looking into those brown eyes that brought back childhood memories.

But as she stood in front of him, staring up at her unusual, skimask-wearing rescuer, something happened.

He felt the pain before anything else. 

Before he saw the shocked expression on the girl’s face change into lifelessness as she collapsed back to the ground in slow motion.

Before he acknowledged the sound of a silenced gun going off from behind.

Ignoring what had ignited and spread like fire throughout his back and stomach, Tyler whipped out his gun with one hand while the other clutched the bloody fabric just below his rib cage. He had to suppress his surprise as he glared beyond a freshly fired barrel to the man behind it.

Brendon- who should’ve still been unconscious but instead, inexplicably stood propped up against the wall.

Tyler glanced down at his bloodied fingers, "How the hell..."

He answered the question for himself- Brendon's body must have built up a tolerance for the sedative. Opioid use.

Fucking junkies.

"Who the hell sent you?!" Brendon demanded, struggling against the chemicals in his veins to sound out the words.

"Karma." Tyler spoke through gritted teeth.

"Bullshit! Was it Pete?! That fucking rat, I'm going to kill him!"

Tyler shot Brendon in the leg, ducking into the bathroom to avoid the almost instant counter attack as splinters of wood flew through the air.

Although conscious, he was still heavily drugged and suffering the side effects. His aim was off. His rational was off.

Tyler flinched as another round blew through the doorway.

At the rate his blood was spilling between his fingers, he had to finish this now.

What Brendon heard were wet coughs. Choking, almost. What he saw was a gun fall from the doorway and partially out into the hall.

That was it. He killed him.

Just to make sure, he dragged himself against the wall- fighting with his legs as he switched to the other side and cautiously approached the doorway.

Gun pointed out, he spun into the room- but there was no body. Only blood. Trails of it left behind, smudged across a tarp and up the side of the bath tub to where it vanished behind a curtain.

His lips twisted into an evil grin as he stepped quietly towards the tub. Gun fixed, he slowly rose a hand to collect some of the material before flinging the curtain back in one swift motion.

But again, there was no body.

A dumbfounded expression permanently instilled on his face as a knife plunged deep into his neck- severing a carotid artery. Blood spraying and gushing out in bursts until there wasn’t any left for his heart to pump.

Tyler let go of the knife, a hand returning to his stomach as the other rummaged for his phone. Adrenaline began to subside into lightheadedness as he listened to the tone.

“What’s up?” Mark asked.

“I need you.  _Now_.”


	6. Chapter 6

Three hundred sixty seven.

There were three hundred sixty seven assorted floor tiles in the kitchen, and after counting a second time just to make sure he had gotten the number correct, Josh went back and counted them again- categorizing by size. 

It’s what he resorted into doing for entertainment now.

Pushing up onto toes until he felt the chair creep close to its tipping point before lowering it back down. Humming songs, even full blown belting out choruses because hey- no one was around to hear his stupidity.

He had done anything and everything to try to keep his mind off of his situation, because he had given up. He had thoroughly exhausted every method of escape that he could think of, so he was stuck here on this Godforsaken chair until his captor returned. 

He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to look forward to that or not, seeing how he wasn’t too sure of his fate once he returned.

The feelings were very mixed. 

It was pushing close to three hours since he had been left alone, and to think- Tyler didn’t even have the freaking decency to leave the tv on. Just a remote that sat on the arm of the couch which Josh frequently eyeballed, but knew there was no way in hell he could get it.

But lucky for him, going on twenty four hours without any real sleep started to have an affect on him as the night went on.

Yawns became regular. His eyelids grew heavy, lagging with every slow blink. Objects grew fuzzy no matter how hard he tried to focus. His head would bob forward, only for him to jolt back awake again.

Repeating until eventually, chin on chest and breaths becoming slower and deeper, Josh drifted off for what only felt like a brief moment- until he heard a sound from outside.

He groggily looked up to see headlights flash across closed blinds and brighten as they grew closer.

His heartrate spiked instantly and all desire to sleep was lost.

He listened intently, still as stone, as a car door opened but didn’t shut with the headlights still on. He could hear a key enter and twist inside the lock, and very soon after, watched as Tyler entered and quickly closed the door behind- leaning with his back up against it as he stared across to Josh.

He was coated in blood, and Josh couldn’t do anything but stare. It was a scene straight out of a horror movie, and he felt a very real fear he had never felt before suddenly set in. 

But Tyler didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

Josh began to think he had been followed, or at least had been trying to outrun someone. He looked tired and out of breath. 

It wasn’t until he noticed Tyler pressing the balaclava up to his stomach that he realized what was wrong.

“Good news,” He said weakly, “I made it back.”

Josh watched as the brunette slid down to the ground, leaving a solid red streak behind him.

It was bright. Fresh.

“Are... are you bleeding?” Josh struggled with the knot in his throat.

Tyler glanced down at the soaked fabric and gave a halfhearted smirk, “Yea, a little.”

The paleness of his face said otherwise.

“Here.” He reached into his pocket, lazily sliding an open pocket knife across the hardwood floor, coming to a rest in front of Josh’s shoes.

The pink-haired man was still trying to process everything as he stared down at the blade. There was something making him hesitate. It was hard to trust the intentions of a killer who just handed him a weapon.

“You... want me to cut myself free?”

Tyler merely nodded.

One more glance down at the object, and Josh swung to one side- toppling the chair and himself over. He wiggled and maneuvered until his fingers brushed across the metal, and he pulled it into his grasp. He shifted it around in his hands and began to slice the tape, frantically working until his arms and feet were free.

And with the knife still in his hand, Josh made his way over to Tyler- and the blood-bathed murderer kept his eyes fixed on the blade the entire time.

He slowly raised his gaze as the other man came to a stop just in front of him, “What? You gonna do me a favor?”

But Josh ignored him, setting the knife down as he knelt and gingerly pulled the balaclava away, “You need to get to a hospital.”

“Seriously? That’s-” he broke off into a cough, “the one thing you _don’t_ do with someone else’s blood all over you.”

“You could have internal bleeding... or go into hypovolemic shock. You already look like you lost a lot of blood.”

Tyler raised an eyebrow, “What are you, a doctor?”

Josh pressed the fabric back into the wound, earning a grimace, “Not exactly.”

The murderer exhaled, shaking his head as he stared past Josh to the wall across the room, “I couldn’t save her.”

Josh, who was about to get up, paused in wonder. It wasn’t exactly something he expected to hear, but an explanation would have to wait. He needed to go find something else for the bleeding.

He returned with towels and a pillow, creating a bed on the couch before rushing back to Tyler. He grabbed his arm, pulling him up and helping him over to lay down. 

He folded up one of the towels and pressed it above the balaclava, replacing his hand with one of Tyler’s, “Hold it down as hard as you can.” 

“Why are you doing this?”

Not really knowing an answer himself, he simply wiped his now bloodied hands off onto his equally bloodied clothes and bit his tongue.

He left the question unanswered as he walked away, picking up the keys that still sat in front of the door and looking back over to Tyler, “I’ll be right back. Just stay awake.” 


	7. Chapter 7

He was disoriented as he awoke from a darkness that he didn’t known when, and for how long, he had been under. Like a deep sleep without the benefit of feeling well rested afterwards. Like dying and suddenly coming back to life.

And now, nothing but foggy, jumbled up memories spun around in the space between his ears. A pounding ache.

Of a girl. Of a knife. Of trying to keep a car between the lines. 

Pink hair and reassuring words.  

But none of those were as much of a reminder as the painful shock that hit him like a bolt of lightning when he moved. His hand instinctually traveled to the source as he gritted his teeth, but was blocked by a thick layer of gauze.   

His eyes flickered open, much against their will, to look down at his stomach- but a tug simultaneously came from his wrist as he tried to push up onto his elbow; an IV tube, running to a bag of clear fluid that hung from a jimmy-rigged hook next to the bed. And just beyond that- empty, discarded ones, haphazardly thrown at the waste basket next to his desk.

Fighting against his screaming wound and the instant lightheadedness caused by the receding blood from his head, Tyler managed to toss back the sheets and sit up. Still confused, and feeling like a sack of death, he yanked the plastic tubing from his wrist as he continued to speculate.

The medical equipment. The clean sweatpants he had on. The lack of blood on his skin, or anywhere for that matter.

The fact that he was still alive.

His stomach turned from nausea, and through his peripheral, he could see the sickly pale glow of his body against the sunlight of the unknown time of day that shone through the windows. He could feel a warm trickle drip down the back of his hand as he slowly stood up like a frail, elderly man getting out of bed for the first time in days. The moan was one to match.

He braced himself against the mattress until he collected himself enough to make it the rest of the distance to the door, which he quietly opened from its cracked position. And to his disbelief, as he stepped out into the living room, his eyes were met by those belonging to one of the last people he expected to see.

“Jesus, what the hell are you doing up?” Josh exclaimed as he leapt off the couch and rushed over.

And just like clockwork, that was when Tyler’s legs decided to fail him- but arms grabbed on tight just in time and helped him to the couch.

“You lost a lot of blood, you can’t just-”

“Did you do this?”

Josh gave him a brief, unreadable look, “Yea.”

Tyler struggled with the _why_ and _how,_ because to him, this didn’t make much sense to his oxygen-deprived brain. He had given Josh the chance, and the reason to run and leave him to die- or hell, even do it himself to get revenge for his neighbor. But instead, he had chosen to try and save him. 

He was at a loss for words. His mouth moved a few times, but each word died in the back of his throat. He settled into silence until the other man sat down next to him.

“I’m not a doctor... I’m a paramedic. Or at least I am until they find out who took all of this stuff from the hospital.” Josh nodded towards the large medical bag and pile of supplies on the kitchen table.

Tyler chuckled weakily. Go figure.

“I would’ve tried to get my hands on a bag of blood, but I didn’t know your-”

“Why?” 

Josh pondered the short, skeptical question and all of its complicatedness as he stared down to the ground in between his socks.

It was the second time he had been asked that, and there was a lot to it- or so it seemed. Too much to explain, and too much to think about. As if he had to provide all of the evidence and make a statement to a jury to validate his decision. Things that even he didn’t quite know or understand, but one thought came to mind.

“Maybe it’s because I’m just as fucked up as you are.”

If he had the energy, or was in slightly less pain, Tyler would’ve smirked at that. Instead, he bobbed his head and allowed his eyes to roll shut, “I have to... call Mark.”

“He knows.”

Tyler cracked open an eye.

“We kind of... already met.”

“And how did that go?” 

“About as well as you would think. He wanted me to tell you that he ‘took care of everything’ and that he’d be back at some point to check in. And that you owe him.”

“Does he-”

“No... he doesn’t know. He thinks I’m a friend. Like a connection you never talked about... which kind of confused and pissed him off, but he bought it. ”

Tyler exhaled, long and wavering as he carefully cradled his abdomen with his arm, “Why were you there?”

Josh looked over at him curiously, figuring Tyler’s condition was beginning to make him delirious, “At where?”

“Patrick’s house... why were you there that night?”

“I was gonna ask to borrow something... beginning to think I should’ve just waited until the morning.”

Tyler chuckled, and a wince quickly ensued.

Josh watched as his sunken eyes fell shut once again, and studied his features as they relaxed once the pain subsided.

Noticed the way he resembled more of a corpse now than a living person as he fell still, and remembered a time where this vulnerable man was the most threatening force he had ever faced.

The pretty-eyed killer who was now too weak to even stand. Who’s life now, in an ironic twist of fate, rested entirely in his skilled, yet ill-equipt hands.

“I’m glad I didn’t kill you.” Tyler mumbled, either unable to or purposefully avoiding his usual sarcastic tone.

Josh decided to take it as a dark-humored compliment as he cracked a small smile, “Let’s get you back to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be posted shortly. 
> 
> Happy early Halloween my spooky peeps!


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